Sing Your Heart Out/Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten: The Great Reveal of Miss Camille “Shouldn’t have mocked you for having to dig, help me out and I’ll be your human drill-rig.” Avery rocked back and forth on the tips of her high heels while the band played the instrumental for Alejandro’s lyrics. As she swayed her hips, she caught somebody moving in her peripheral vision. In one swift motion, she cut off the band and swung around to find that Isaac had sat down in the chair behind her. He clapped slowly for her, and she arched a brow. “Like what you see?” “You could say that.” Isaac leaned back in the chair. “Who knew that somebody who whines so much could have such a smoky singing voice?” “Do you think I’d have been so eager to volunteer if I didn’t know I could sing?” “I think you’ll make the men at home a little more than eager if you sound anything like that on camera.” Avery wasn’t sure if she was complimented or offended by the comment, so she pursed her lips in a neutral expression. “Who let you back here?” Her troublemaking teammate only shrugged. “Nobody stopped me.” The drama queen rolled her eyes and dismissed the band for a coffee break. When the musicians left the room, she hoisted herself up to sit atop the piano. “I don’t see why you’re wasting time back here. Shouldn’t you be celebrating your prank victory with Angel?” “He’s with Allison.” “And?” “She’s annoying as hell.” Isaac sneered. “You’re preaching to the choir.” Avery remarked. The slacker shot her his signature smirk. “I’m not just saying that to impress you, you know. You and I just happen to hate the same person.” “Hate’s a strong word.” “Well I sure don’t love her, so I don’t know what else I could say.” The beautiful brunette gestured towards herself. “''I'' hate her. You just don’t like her because she stole Angel from you.” “Eh, she can have him for now. I’ve had a little too much manly bonding time and figured talking to you would be a nice change of pace.” Isaac claimed. “There’re plenty of other Oscars you could bother. You don’t have to sit around with someone you hate.” “Hate’s a strong word.” He fired the drama queen’s phrase right back at her. Avery just crossed her arms. “Considering how you’ve treated me for the past four episodes, I’d say it’s the right one to use.” “Nah, you’re growing on me a bit.” The underachiever admitted. “I was the first to call bullshit when you apologized for the Robert thing, but you’re doing just what you said and trying to help us win. You’re a lot more honest than I thought you’d be.” “I live up to my word. I’m not exactly the ruthless queen bee you think I am. If you guys stopped underestimating me, maybe you’d see I’m much better than that.” “See, you make me want to hate you again when you say things like that.” Avery chuckled at Isaac’s comment, but she immediately stopped when she noticed that he had a straight face on. “That wasn’t a joke.” “What I said wasn’t a joke either, but if you don’t like me I’m not going to pretend to be somebody else for you.” Avery curled her upper lip. “You can either have me as I am or not have me at all.” “We’ll see how that works out.” Isaac and Avery glared at each other for a long moment before she broke the cold silence. “Did you come back here to try to fix things or to make them worse?” Isaac gave her a sly smirk. “Your choice.” Confession Cam Avery: The olive-skinned girl leaned against the side of the confessional, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed in a tight line. “What is his problem? At first I thought he was just trying to tick me off, but then it kind of seemed like he was flirting with me.” She rolled her eyes. “If that’s the case, then what did Cara do to make him tired of her already?” “We tried to hunt down some props to help you out, but all we could find are these.” Minerva pushed a notebook, a pen, and a bell hanging from a string towards Wes. The temporarily mute musician examined the items and then furrowed his brow in confusion. “I know they’re not the best, but we just wanted to help you in any way we could.” Wes picked up the pen and paper and nodded at them. Then, he held up the bell and shrugged his shoulders. Minerva nodded at him, though her blank expression revealed her lack of understanding. “I think he wants to know what the bell is for.” Victor translated. “Oh!” Minerva slapped her palm to her forehead. “Duh! It’s so you can get our attention if you want to say something … or, well, I guess you can’t really say anything, but you can write it!” The guitarist furrowed his brow, and the loudmouth smiled awkwardly back. He held up the bell and pointed to the string with a puzzled look. “It’s a string.” The redhead stated. Wes shook his head in disappointment, and Risty sighed from behind Minerva. “She wanted you to wear the bell around your neck so you wouldn’t lose it-” “And for easy access!” Minerva added. Risty rolled her eyes. “And for easy access. I told her it was a dumb and mildly degrading idea, but she thought it’d be cute.” Wes refused to look at Minerva, instead taking one long stare at the bell before tucking it into his pocket. He then gave the chatterbox a thumbs up and a weak smile. Minerva grinned to herself as she plopped down beside Monique atop a costume chest. “I knew he’d like it.” “Wes, Chef said he could only get you an extra hour to practice,” Monique reminded her teammate, “So you need to get a move on with those songs.” Wes nodded at Monique and then scribbled a message in the notebook. Where’s Donna? Monique and Wes scanned the backstage area that their team was gathered in for anything sign of the smart mouth. Eventually, Monique spotted a bit of brown hair peeking out from behind Ophelia and a rack of costumes. The diminutive diva marched over and slid Ophelia and the rack aside to reveal Donna sitting on the floor. She smiled uncomfortably. “Wow, you found me!” Donna deadpanned, wiggling her fingers with false enthusiasm. “Now it’s your turn to hide.” “If you were trying to hide, you’ll have to do a much better job than that.” Monique said. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” “Good.” Monique stepped out of Donna’s way and motioned for her to stand. “Now get up, this isn’t a game.” Donna reluctantly got to her feet and walked over to where Wes was slinging his guitar over his shoulder. “Where exactly will we be practicing? I don’t want to be in the way.” The guitarist gesticulated wildly, though Donna and the other Emmys didn’t seem to follow. Ophelia pointed to a door across the backstage area. “Why don’t you go ask the band? I think they’re practicing with one of The Oscars right now, but I’m sure they can unlock something for you.” Wes stood up and gave Donna a smile, though Donna’s expression remained neutral as she followed him towards the door. “I hope she’s at least a little sympathetic since he can’t talk.” Sebastian commented. “What do you mean?” Minerva asked. “I mean that she’ll probably tear the kid apart.” While many of the singers had chosen to make the most of their extra hour by practicing backstage, Allison and Angel had camped out in the third row of the audience to await Camille’s return. Cara, Paul, and Irina had followed the injured aristocrat to Chef Hatchet’s medical trailer, though over half an hour had passed and they still hadn’t returned. “Do you think it’s really serious?” Allison asked, keeping her eyes on the exit. “No way.” Angel replied, glancing over to the chair that Camille had left her purse on. “The sauce isn’t that strong … or at least I don’t think it is. Nobody was ever clumsy enough to get it in their eye before.” “If she’s legally blind, would she sue you or the show?” “Don’t say that!” The pyromaniac cried. “As if this wasn’t bad enough, your worrying is making it worse!” “I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure Chris had us all sign an agreement that we wouldn’t sue him before we got on the show. I know how it feels to be responsible for an accident, and it really sucks to get stuck with all the blame.” “Do I even want to know what happened?” Allison waved a casual hand. “Nothing special, just a freak canoeing accident.” Angel opened his mouth to question her, but thought it’d probably be better not to. “I just don’t want to think about it ‘til I have to.” “Hey, it might turn out fine.” The scarlet-haired girl leaned back in her chair. “For all we know, she has eye drops in her purse.” Angel immediately perked up at his friend’s words. “I know the perfect distraction!” “Is this something fire-related?” “No.” Angel pointed at Camille’s handbag. “I want to know what’s in there.” Allison gaped. “No way! She guards that thing with her life! If she caught you looking in there, who knows what she’d do?” “So you don’t think she’s as innocent as she seems?” The punk’s dark eyes darted around the room, and she lowered her voice until it was just above a whisper. “Okay, no, I don’t believe her, she’s suspicious as hell. At first it was just little things – she could shoot a bow and arrow like a pro, she literally tells us nothing about her. But then Paul saw her doing something weird in the corner during the music video challenge, and now Cara’s been talking about her disappearing all the time.” “Then don’t you want to figure out what’s up with her?” Angel asked. “You’re obviously curious, and the answer might be in that bag.” “What if we’re wrong?” “Then she’ll never know we looked.” “What if there’s something in there we don’t want to know about?” “Like what?” Allison started counting items on her fingers. “A bomb. Whatever’s left of Blaineley’s dead career. Secret terrorist documents plotting the destruction of Ocean Island and everything within an eighty mile radius. A freshly decapitated human head.” “I thought you’d think seeing a human head would be cool?” “Not if it’s fresh!” Angel’s lips curled into a clever grin. “… What if I dared you to look in there?” Allison’s eyes bugged. “… I, um …” “You never turn down a dare, right?” The spiky-haired teen repeated his teammate’s own words. “You said you’re not afraid of anything.” The daredevil did a quick overview of the room, keeping her teeth clamped onto her lower lip. When she concluded that they were the only people on the outside of the stage, she reached for the handbag. “Fine. Challenge accepted.” Allison moved over to the seat beside the purse, hunching over it to make sure any intruders were unable to see what she was doing. She slowly unclasped the bag and reached her hand inside to shuffle through its contents. Glad that she hadn’t run into the fresh human head that she’d anticipated, she began to dig deeper into the bag. She removed several girlish items before reaching the bottom, her eyes widening as her fist clenched around something completely unexpected. “What is it?” Angel asked, leaning in to look. “It’s … a big-ass diamond!” Though Allison hadn't exactly made the most sophisticated choice of adjective, the gem that she removed from the purse was massive. It was at least the size of her fist and sparkled intensely in the dim overhead lighting. Allison and Angel were almost positive that they had a very real and undoubtedly very pricey diamond in front of them. There was a thin rope tied around it with an aged piece of paper on the end of it. The daredevil turned the paper over and read aloud, “Search for the birch with initials A.B., the next piece lies six feet deep.” “Huh. I guess Camille’s into emo poetry.” Angel snorted. “What the hell is it supposed to mean?” “It means that you two rats need to mind your own business!” Angel and Allison turned towards the doors with matching expressions of fear. There stood Camille, her dark eyes narrowed and bloodshot from the hot sauce. Her deep red lips were curled into a snarl as she spoke in a darker, much more mature voice. “I’m going to give you three seconds to give me the diamond and get out of here. You will never speak of this again – not now, not when I get both of you eliminated, not ever.” “Fat chance!” Angel retorted. “What is this, a secret code?” “One …” The black-haired girl gritted her teeth. “''Two …''” “We’re not leaving until you tell us what’s going on, Camille … if that’s even your real name!” Allison argued. “What are you hiding?” “Give me the damn diamond or I’m not going to wait for the elimination ceremony to get rid of you two.” Camille threatened. “Tell us what’s going on first!” Allison shouted. “I said give it to me, you little freak!” Camille grabbed two fistfuls of Allison’s hair and began to pull with all of her might. The punk yowled in pain but kept the diamond clutched tightly to her chest as the aristocrat dug her long nails into her scalp. Panicked, Angel scrambled to find something to help her and ended up smacking Camille in the face with her own purse. The blow made Camille release Allison, and Angel grabbed the daredevil’s arm and pulled her into the aisle, chucking the handbag at their pursuer in an attempt to slow her down. The thrill seeker and fire starter rushed towards the stage, but Camille was quick to recover and bounded after them. Allison and Angel were halfway up the stairs leading to the stage when the punk heard something whiz past her ear. It was Camille’s shoe, which hit Angel in the shoulder at full speed. Unprepared for the attack, he tripped on the stairs, his elbow accidentally bumping into Allison as he fell to his knees. The diamond was knocked from her hands and started to topple down the stairs. “Get it!” Allison shrieked when Camille dove across the few feet separating her from the stairs, reaching for the diamond in midair. At an advantage because he was already on the ground, Angel snatched the gem before she could. Allison tugged him to his feet as Camille face-planted onto the stair. The daredevil and pyromaniac hurried across the stage, Angel clutching the diamond tightly between his hands. Once they reached the nearest backstage door, Allison fumbled with the knob. It was locked. They began rapidly pounding against it. “HELP US! PLEASE!” They could hear Camille getting up behind them. “UNLOCK IT! LET US IN!” The moment the door started to open, Allison and Angel charged in and slammed it behind them. Paul, Cara, and Irina could only stare. “Are you okay?” Irina wondered. “No, we’re not okay!” Angel barked, locking the door and then leaning his body against it. “We need to put up a barrier or something!” “Grab anything you can!” Allison started shoving all objects within reach in front of the door, Angel joining her a moment later. “What’s going on?” Paul asked as the pile started to accumulate. “What’s out there?” Angel struggled to explain what they had seen. “It’s … it’s Camille, but it’s not Camille!” “What is that supposed to mean?” Cara looked offended in her roommate’s honor, though Allison didn’t seem to care when she picked her up and inserted her into the barricade. “Cara, you don’t understand. She’s turned into a monster!” Allison explained. “She tried to rip out my hair and was threatening to ‘get rid of’ us!” “Then she threw her shoe at me!” Angel pulled his sleeve up to show the welt that had formed on his upper arm. “She was chasing us, and we barely got away.” “I have no idea what you guys are on, but there’s no way that’s possible.” Paul said, pushing a few items away from the door to free Cara from the barrier. “We were just with Camille a couple minutes ago. Chef helped reduce the redness and then sent her back to The Hotel to continue washing out her eyes.” “And she would never do anything like that.” Cara insisted. “We know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe us.” Angel pleaded, interlacing his fingers. “She was trying to kill us!” Irina pointed to the diamond clutched between the terrified teen’s hands. “What’s that?” KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Who is it?” Cara called despite Angel and Allison’s desperate signals for her not to. “It’s Camille!” Allison and Angel exchanged a look of terror. “Here, there’s some stuff blocking the door. Just give us a minute to move it.” Paul reached out to push a trunk out of the way, but Allison smacked his hands away. “Please don’t!” The daredevil begged. “You have to believe us, Paul. We’re your friends!” “Can I please come in?” The voice that was muffled by the door held Camille’s typical childish tone, but Angel and Allison knew what they had seen. “I just got back from The Hotel and I want to practice with you guys, but I’m locked out.” Paul and Irina had cleared the barrier from the door, so Cara reached for the lock. Angel desperately pressed his body against the wood to keep it shut. “She’s lying. I don’t think she even went back to The Hotel. She was in there chasing us the whole time, I swear!” “Is everything okay in there?” Camille pondered from outside the door. “You guys don’t sound like you’re having a very good time.” “See? It’s just Camille.” Cara shoved Angel out of the way and unlocked the door. Allison and Angel skittered to hide as Camille stepped inside, her head tilted in confusion. Her dress didn’t bare any evidence of her fall on the stairs and both her shoes seemed to be on, though her eyes were still beat red when she widened them in Angel and Allison’s direction. “Are you okay? You two look like you saw a ghost!” “More like a demon.” Allison muttered, crouching down in an attempt to disappear behind Irina. Angel was doing the same behind Paul, the diamond held securely in his fist. “I’m so sorry that I held up our practicing because of my eye. That sandwich just came out of nowhere.” Camille told Cara. “It feels a lot better now. We should run through our song one more time now that we’re all back together.” “I think that sounds like a great idea.” Cara grinned, patting her friend on the shoulder. “We still don’t have Avery and Isaac.” Irina pointed out. “I’m pretty sure they’re with the band. I’ll go grab them.” “I’ll come too.” Paul followed her across the backstage area, purposefully exposing Allison and Angel. Cara began to chat with Camille, unaware that the girl in the gown was glaring at the pair over her roommate’s shoulder. She focused her eyes on the diamond and gave them a menacing smirk, and the firebug and adrenaline junkie rushed after Paul and Irina. “Wait up!” “We’re coming too!” Confession Cam Allison and Angel: The pair was squished shoulder to shoulder on the short bench in the confessional, their faces displaying matching expressions of terror. Angel still held the diamond between his hands, his grip so tight around it that his knuckles had turned white. “Nobody believed us, but what happened out there was on film.” Allison said. “Camille turned into a monster, and it’s all because of this stupid diamond.” “I’m pretty sure that as long as we have this thing she’ll be out for us, but we can’t just give it back.” Angel continued. “We don’t know why, but it’s really important to her. I’d be fine returning it if it was some kind of family memento, but it seems like something a lot bigger than that. She threatened to ‘get rid of’ us even if we gave it back, which I hope meant eliminate us from the show and not kill. Either way, she’s not getting it back if she keeps acting like a psychopath.” “That unfortunately means we’re number one on her hit list.” His scarlet-haired teammate added with a grimace. “Irina and Paul think we’ve gone crazy and abandoned us, so we’re just going to hide out in here until the performances start. Our team doesn’t really need us now, right?” “Right.” Angel nodded, rolling the diamond from one palm to the other. After sending it back and forth a few times, he spoke up again. “You know, I have ‘Her Real Name Isn’t Blaineley.’ With a few tweaks to the words, we could make it about Camille. Maybe that’d tick her off again and get her to freak out in front of everybody.” “Oh my god, that’s genius!” Allison exclaimed. “Then they’ll have to believe us!” “We just have one problem, though.” Angel pointed his chin towards the door. “There’s no way I’m going out there.” “We don’t need the band, then.” The punk waved her hand in a pish-posh manner. “We can rewrite the song right here in the safety of the confessional …” “Well, let’s see it.” Donna held out her hand and Wes placed his notebook in it. The lanky musician watched as the petite pessimist skimmed over the descriptions that he had quickly written up for her, her eyes occasionally squinting as she struggled to decipher his messy handwriting. He had tried to go into as much detail as possible about what he’d been planning to do with “Greek Mix” and “Oh My Izzy,” though the arrangements would have to be changed a bit to fit the new voice. It would have been a lot easier for him to show her, but his temporary inability to speak made that impossible, so he had to try his best to write it out in plain terms for her. After a minute, she returned the notebook with a curt nod of her head. “Okay.” Wes raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Just okay?” Donna was fortunately able to catch on to what he signaling much faster than Minerva had. “I’ll have to hear the music before I can say much more.” The momentarily mute musician flipped to the next blank page of the notebook and scrawled something out, holding it up to her once he was done. You don’t want to do this, do you? “I might have been a little more willing if I had more time.” The brunette admitted. “I’m not a performer, so I need to prepare for something like this. Ophelia put me on the spot.” Wes crossed off his last note and wrote another beneath it, showing it to her with a mischievous grin. Just picture the audience in their underwear. The corner of Donna’s mouth quirked upwards. “Imagining Chef in his underwear would make me want to get out of there even faster. I’d jump off the stage if that was the only choice.” The songbird attempted to laugh, though his injured throat caused it to come out as a dry scraping noise. Any sign of a smile on Donna’s face instantly disappeared, and her eyes drifted down to stare at her shuffling feet. “The Oscars were smart to take you out. With you on the team, we had a sure win. Now they’re expecting an underdog victory, while I’m just hoping tonight’s surprise on the Red Carpet of Shame isn’t too bad for me. I’d like to leave with at least a scrap of my dignity.” Wes scribbled another message for her. I think you can do it. Donna pushed the notebook away. “Nice try, but you don’t even know what I sound like. Now stop trying to be the stereotypical nice guy and get down to business.” He held up one long finger and moved his guitar onto his lap, grabbing a pick from the pocket of his jeans. He played her a few chords, slow and simple but altogether a pleasant melody. Donna furrowed her brow in confusion until he pointed down at the lyric sheet to “Oh My Izzy” that was tucked into the side of the notebook. The smart mouth’s brows jolted up towards her hairline. “You turned that cutesy reggae monstrosity into that?” Wes nodded proudly and her jaw actually dropped. “The Oscars really screwed us over. You have talent.” The guitarist slid another note over to her. Thank you. Now you sing it and kick The Oscars’ asses. She stifled a laugh. “Your expectations of me are much too high.” Wes began to rapidly write another message, but Donna reached over and slipped the pen from his hand. She twirled it between her fingers when he looked up at her through his bangs. “I have a proposition for you. When you get your voice back, we can continue this conversation. Right now, I desperately need to practice.” Wes nodded in agreement and shuffled the lyric sheet over to her. He then began to strum the opening chords to “Oh My Izzy” again, gesturing to her on her cue. “I miss the way Izzy said hello …” “Oh my god, this is going to be awful.” “Yeah, pretty much.” Monique and Risty could only sit off to the side and spectate as Elena and Gabe flung insults back and forth. With a missing vocalist, The Emmys had to reassign the parts for “Eine Kleine,” which meant grudgingly handing a lyric other than “Shhhh!” over to Gabe. Elena was somehow personally offended by that, but, then again, she was personally offended by everything. “Your voice sounds like a cat being run over!” Elena yelled. “Your face looks like a cat that was run over!” Gabe snapped back. “Oh, we’re talking about looks now? Where should I start, your ass crack of a chin or the rat’s nest on your head?!” “Hey, guess what? We all know why you spend so long in the shower. Two words,” The old money jerk got in the new money socialite’s face, “Hair. Extensions.” “Why don’t you shut up and give that hole in your face a chance to heal?” “How many things have you gotten that hook nose caught on, Princess?” Monique rolled her eyes. “They’re not even good insults.” “I kind of liked that last one.” Risty admitted. The trendsetter snorted. “I could eat alphabet soup and puke up a better comeback than that.” “Why are they even fighting? Weren’t they kind of friends for a while?” The athlete wondered. “I know they totally hate each other, but I thought they were at the point where they could tolerate each other for the sake of their cause.” “I don’t think they even have a cause.” Monique remarked. “My guess is they finally realized that their ‘alliance’ hasn’t and probably never will do anything.” “They’re still trying. Supposedly they’re after me now.” “That just proves they’re a pair of idiots. If we lose this challenge, what’ve they got against you?” The designer questioned. “''Nothing.'' I literally can’t think of one reason to vote you off. If anything, they should be going after Wes or Donna, but they’re too stupid to think of that.” “You’d think one of them would realize their alliance is going nowhere.” Risty commented. “I think if they actually put their heads together they wouldn’t even have half of a brain.” “My parents have more money than yours!” Elena shrieked. “I’m practically royalty!” “Okay, one, that’s a lie.” Gabe held up a finger and then raised a second one. “And two, we all know you’re adopted! Your family purchased you. Even if you were royalty, it wouldn’t matter because you’re not related by blood!” The socialite was now fuming. “You do not insult my family! At least we have a reputation! We run a successful business and we work for our fortune! Did your family just pull their money out of their asses? I don’t know, because I’ve never heard somebody talk about the Pattersons!” “Don’t give me that new money crap - you don’t work for your money, your father did! You just invite yourself to every event in Los Angeles and piss off the paparazzi for attention!” “Believe it or not, I’m actually at all those parties because I have friends. Do you know what those are? You probably don’t even have any!” When Gabe opened his mouth to respond, Elena held up her hand. “Nuh-uh, butlers and maids don’t count! They’re being paid to spend time with you!” “I’d rather have no friends than have all my ‘friends’ hate me!” Elena’s jaw snapped closed at the unexpected retort, though Gabe wasn’t letting that force him to bottle up his anger. “I see how you treat everybody here! I’m sure you think that all your ‘friends’ like you, but really all they want is the popularity and money that comes with hanging around you! They don’t give a crap about your ‘friendship,’ they just invite you to their parties and get caught around town with you so they can end up on a magazine cover! If the attitude you have on the show is the same one you have in real life, then we all know exactly what’s going on. You emotionally abuse your friends, but they stick through it because they’re just using you!” For once, Elena didn’t have a reply. Even Monique and Risty in the Peanut Gallery found it too cruel to comment. The hotel heiress’s normally haughty expression had melted into something a bit more human, revealing to every onlooker that everything Gabe had said was true. Eventually, Elena straightened her posture and sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. She turned to her teammates and, in her most professional, emotionless tone, said, “We need some more practice with ‘Eine Kleine.’ Everybody take your places.” And as much as they hated her, The Emmys did as they were told, all choosing not to address the fact that Gabe had found a chip in Elena’s Miss Popular façade. “Random unpaid studio audience, welcome to Sing Your Heart Out!” Chris beamed at the applause he received. The extra hour had passed in what felt like no time, and the host stood in the middle of the stage to begin the showcase. “Our two teams were challenged to take on the music of Total Drama World Tour and probably humiliate themselves in the process. The first round is the group numbers, where every member of the teams is forced to sing … well, except Wes. Long story short, he was the butt of somebody’s joke and can’t talk. I told him he had to be on stage even though he can’t sing, so expect to see him playing the cowbell or interpretive dancing or something. “With all of the chances to miss a cue, run into each other, or go slightly sharp and screw up the whole team’s harmony, I can almost guarantee you that somebody will screw up … and it’ll be hilarious. The Oscars lost the backstage coin toss, so they’re up first with their attempt at ‘Come Fly With Us.’ Why don’t you give them a hand?” The crowd clapped, and Chris shuffled offstage as the lights shut off. The Oscars rushed in from backstage, bumping into each other in the dark as they took their places. When lining up in his spot, Paul noticed a gap beside him. He squinted through the darkness to find that there was no telltale shine from a certain daredevil’s metallic accessories across the stage. “Where’re Angel and Allison?” “Right here, man.” Angel popped up beside Paul from somewhere in the wings. “We’re back.” “Just in time.” Angel froze when he heard Camille’s voice right beside him. Before he had a chance to run, the instrumental started, and spotlights began to light up one by one as the four girls on the opposite side of the stage began singing “Up!” in harmony. The same thing happened on Angel’s side of the stage, but the pyromaniac darted away from Camille the moment the spotlight was off of him. However, the fire starter’s running wasn’t nearly as distracting to the audience as Avery’s was. As the song went on, the determined drama queen ran back and forth and around the stage to sing all of her parts. Within a few seconds, she would escape into the wings only to jump out on the complete other side of the stage. Though the result looked rather ridiculous, the Jersey girl persevered through the song without missing any of her four roles’ cues, which was a feat that her team would eventually have to respect. The Emmys waiting backstage watched the scene on a monitor and laughed at her scampering, though The Oscars were rewarded with great applause at the song's end. Chris walked onstage again and took a bow, obviously thinking the cheers were for him. “Oscars, the judges won’t give their feedback until the end of the challenge, so feel free to exit stage left … or right. It really doesn’t matter. Emmys, you’re up with ‘Eine Kleine!’” The teams quickly switched positions, the music beginning to play when The Emmys seemed to be in the correct places. The first few lines actually went without error, but when it was Elena’s turn to sing she decided to deviate from the plan. Rather than project her line to the audience, she stomped over to Gabe and shoved him by the shoulders. “Wait ‘til you’re voted out for being such a lout!” Her lyrics were more screamed than sung. Gabe stumbled from the push but retaliated quickly by wrapping some of her hair around his hand. “I’ll dance a jig when Chris shoves you out the plane!” He yanked her hair with full force, thrusting the socialite forward. Instead of falling to the ground, Elena maneuvered herself so that she would land on top of her alliance-mate. The crowd gasped as the pair of rich kids began clawing and tugging at each other, and Victor smoothly slid in to block the audience’s view of the brawl. “When you don’t hold back and lead the back, truly there is nothing stopping you, you, you!” Risty joined him in obscuring the audience’s view of the fight as she sang her lyrics. “Swimming in your eyes, it’s butterflies, and-” Gabe’s arm swung out and caught on the jock’s leg, sending her tumbling to the floor. The athlete growled with anger. “Alright, I am done with you spoiled brats!” She leapt into the fight and began to pry the pair apart. Victor dodged the scene with his hands held up to protect his precious face. At the front of the stage, Ophelia seemed completely unaware of the clash occurring behind her. She did a ballerina twirl as she blissfully sang Lindsay’s lines over the screaming and snarling behind her. Donna was distracted by the scuffle and missed her cue for Tyler’s lines, so Wes stood beside Ophelia at center stage and rang his bell in an attempt to distract the audience. Even when the song ended, the crowd could only watch in horror as Elena, Gabe, and Risty continued to try to tear one another limb from limb. The lights were hastily turned off to shroud the chaos, and The Emmys were ushered offstage. Confession Cam Elena: Her normally pristine hair was a mess of tangles, her makeup was smudged, and there was a nasty bruise blossoming on her chin. “I hate that spoiled bastard.” Gabe: His thick hair was sticking out at every angle, his tie was missing, and there were scratches from Elena’s nails on his neck. “I hate that spoiled bitch.” Risty: The big-haired athlete crossed her arms triumphantly. She was equally as dirtied as her teammates were, though she didn’t seem to mind. “For the record, I’m pretty sure I won that catfight.” To clear the audience’s mind of the disaster they had just witnessed, the duet round began immediately with Angel and Ophelia battling it out over “Save This Show.” Spectating in the wings, Allison’s eyes darted back and forth in search of her suspicious teammate. When she found that Camille was nowhere in sight, she let out a breath of air that she had been holding as if it was her last. “You seem relieved about something. You really shouldn’t be.” The daredevil’s eyes went wide when she heard Camille’s voice purring over her shoulder. She refused to turn around, glancing at each of her teammates for help only to find that they were distracted by Angel and Ophelia’s performance. Realizing that she was alone in this battle, Allison straightened out her posture before turning around to face her lying teammate. “What do you want?” She spat out, mustering all of her courage to assure that her voice didn’t crack. “Like you don’t know.” Camille rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Give me the diamond.” “I don’t have it.” The crimson-haired punk confessed. “But I’m sure you know where it is. If you were smart and wanted to get off this show in one piece, you’d go get it for me.” Allison snickered nervously. “I’m not exactly known for my common sense.” “I can tell.” Camille’s upper lip curled into a scowl. “You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of. It would be so easy for me to make you disappear with no questions. By the time they find you in the ditch I’ll leave you in, I’ll be long gone.” “Yeah, and you do know who I am, so you should know that I don’t back away from a challenge that easily.” “Very well. I warned you.” Camille reached into her handbag for what must have been a weapon just as the audience broke into applause. Allison peeked onstage to see Angel and Ophelia taking bows. “Oh, too bad, that’s my cue!” She dashed out to center stage, catching Angel by the shoulder as he exited and whispering in his ear, “Don’t let her get you alone.” “Got it.” Angel mumbled back, finding a comfortable place offstage between Isaac and Irina. When he shot her a pleased thumbs up, Allison turned to find that her duet opponent was Donna. “''You’re'' Wes’s replacement?” “Unfortunately.” The pessimist replied, her stance stiff because of the dozens of eyes staring at her. When the music for “Greek Mix” started up, though, her awkward disposition completely vanished, and she belted out a strong, “I know what you’re thinking, I’m thinking it too!” Allison was barely fazed by the other girl’s confidence, following up with her lyric. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking, so maybe that’s true.” The song went on with neither singer taking a clear lead, and the audience and players watched intently for one of the girls to slip up. At the song’s end, they were still unsure as to which performer the judges would favor. The audience cheered for the duet as Allison lingered to take several dramatic bows, though Donna had skittered off the stage the second the music stopped. When Chris introduced the next act, Allison immediately cleared the stage out of sheer amusement. Victor and Avery were going to be competing against each other. The moment the diva and over-the-top actor locked eyes, they knew that this would be an all-out musical war. They shoved and bumped each other in a battle to stand at center stage, though when the music started they both feigned civility before striking dramatic poses. “I left Bridgette stuck to a pole, robbed Leshawna of her fabulous soul,” With every line, Victor inched farther in front of Avery. “Made even Courtney lose control, and now I’m gonna leave you wedged up in a hole!” He flung his arms in the air as a flourish, “accidentally” smacking Avery in the face with his hand. As he sang the chorus, the brunette bombshell fluffed her hair back to its original glory. Once it was her turn to sing, she bumped into his side, sending his arms flailing to catch his balance as his feet remained steady. “Shouldn’t have mocked you for having to dig, help me out and I’ll be your human drill rig.” With every syllable of “human drill rig,” she jutted her elbow back to dig into Victor’s cheek. He flung an arm out and smacked her in the ribs. “You think I’m gonna fall for that?! This ain’t a tea party, it’s combat!” He swept his leg to kick out her ankle, and she leaned over to clutch her foot as he sang the chorus. When it came time for her next verse, Avery sang it with angered passion, though she remained still and calm beside him. It wasn’t until she got to the last lines that she suddenly launched her foot out and kicked him in the groin. “Offer me my dignity, I haven’t got a stitch!” The audience winced as Victor hunched over in pain. The actor groaned in agony for a good part of the chorus, though he managed to recover in enough time to sing the last few lines. He elbowed Avery in the chin just as she kneed him in the side, and they held this position when the spotlight shone down on them and the last note of the song faded out. The audience hesitated before clapping, and the drama king and queen narrowed their eyes at each other as they walked off opposite sides of the stage. “You did great!” Ophelia congratulated Victor, putting a hand on the red spot on his face where he’d been elbowed. “This looks like it hurt.” “Not as much as that last kick did.” The actor moaned, practically collapsing onto Ophelia’s shoulder with a hand over his nether regions. “When am I up again?” “After Avery’s solo, but Allison and I have our songs first.” As if on cue, the music for what must have been a hard rock remix of “Sisters” began to blast through the auditorium and Allison headed onstage. Victor let out a sigh of relief as Ophelia sat him down atop a costume trunk. Confession Cam Victor: “She thinks she can beat me at my own game, humiliate me on international television, and then kick me in the one place that you never kick a man? Oh, Avery, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. The next time I see you, you’re going down.” The audience and judges were slightly appalled by Allison’s heavy metal version of “Sisters,” charmed by Ophelia’s upbeat rendition of “Boyfriend Kisser,” seduced by Avery’s husky tone transforming “I’m Sorry” into something a bit scandalous, and amused by Victor’s angry but always theatrical “Paris.” Angel was now at the center of the stage with a sheet of paper in his hands. As the gaudy music for “Her Real Name Isn’t Blaineley” started to play, he sang the lyrics to a very different song from his paper. “Here’s an open letter to a lying little girl.” “CAMILLE!” Allison shouted with him from where she hid in the wings. “Whose innocence we thought went down to every single curl, But she’s a nasty thieving liar, who calls herself a ditz! But she’s been hiding a huge secret; she’s just a psycho bit-” “HEY!” Camille interrupted. “She carries ‘round her bright red purse, holding tight with both her hands. But try to take a look inside and she’ll smack you ‘cause you can’t! Inside’s a big old diamond, with a note tied to the end. No doubt she stole it from this film set, though I’m not sure when. She’s not the girl you think she is, so let me tell you for real. She’s a violent, conniving little fake, who claims her name’s Camille! She tried to kill me with a shoe, threatened me with bloodshot eyes, If she says she’s good, sweet Camille, she’s probably plotting your demise!” The audience was silent as Angel gave them a quick wave before exiting the stage. Most of the other competitors either stared at him in disbelief or shot suspecting looks at Camille, though Allison gave him a high five when he passed her. Camille made a motion of slitting her throat in Angel’s direction, but before the pyromaniac had a chance to run he was distracted by a deafening squeak. All eyes turned to the stage, where Donna was gracelessly lowering the microphone stand. “Um, sorry about that.” She grimaced to the audience. Wes emerged from the backstage door with his guitar, dragging two stools out to center stage. They each took a seat, and after a quick adjustment of his guitar the momentarily mute musician began to play a simple melody. The audience didn’t recognize the tune at first, though when Donna started to sing it became very obvious. “I miss the way Izzy said hello, and the way she danced so freely. I miss the daytime, when Izzy moved so slow, ‘cause other times she’d forget me.” Just as Wes had planned, the song had been completely transformed from a cute reggae love song to what sounded more like a heartfelt ballad. Donna had a better voice than Owen’s, which complimented the slowed down music to create something unlike any of the previous performances on the stage. “Oh Izzy, oh Izzy. I, I miss you so. Oh my Izzy, little Izzy. Why’d I ever let you go? I miss her smile, and her eyes that shined so bright, I loved that she always ran towards danger, Oh, I miss the way she’d always say goodnight, She was never more beautiful or stranger. Oh Izzy, oh Izzy. I, I miss you so. Oh my Izzy, my little Izzy. Why’d I ever let you go?” Donna repeated the chorus one more time before the song ended on a lingering guitar chord. The audience was quiet for a moment before bursting into a rapid applause. The spectators in the front row got to their feet, and even Wes joined in the clapping. Donna nervously thanked them before leaving the stage, Wes following right on her tail. Chris entered and readjusted the microphone back to his height. “With that, all of the performances are finished. I’m gonna give the judges a few minutes to deliberate, so, contestants, you can take five.” “Yeah, man!” Allison clapped Angel on the back. “You killed it out there!” “There’s no way they won’t believe us now!” Angel agreed. “… Are you two really dumb enough to be sitting alone right now?” The pair’s celebration was cut short by Camille slipping out from the shadows. They didn’t speak a word in reply, so she marched up and grabbed them by the front of their shirts. She yanked them to their feet, slamming the pair against the wall in front of her. “I am sick and tired of you two playing games! Give me back my diamond, or I swear I will make sure that you both end up in ‘accidents’ that’ll leave you pushed off this show in body casts!” “Been there, done that, wheelchairs aren’t fun.” Allison rolled her eyes. “And for the record, no,” Angel added, “We’re not dumb enough to be sitting here alone.” “Don’t be a wiseass with me!” Camille’s hand moved up from her teammates’ shirts to their throats. Before she could begin to squeeze, her grip was broken as her arms were pulled behind her back. The girl in the gown was pushed to the ground as a livid Chef Hatchet knotted her wrists together with a piece of rope. “Well, I think that’s all the proof we need that what Angel and Allison said was true.” Tying one more knot in the rope, Chef yanked her to her feet, the dark-haired girl screeching in protest. The ruckus brought the rest of the contestants to the scene, all either shocked or confused at what was playing out in front of them. “So, what’s your real story?” “Why would I tell you?” Camille snarled. “What’s your story?” Chef repeated, tugging her binding ropes even tighter. Camille spat in his face. “Oh, you’re gon’ regret doin’ that, girl. Come on in!” The backstage doors were kicked down and a small squad of police officers filed in. One uniformed man stepped to the front of the group and took Camille from Chef, snapping a pair of handcuffs around her bound wrists. “We did a fingerprint check and found a match. Her entire backstory was false. Her name is actually Veronique Chevalier, and she’s twenty-one.” The man jerked away to dodge Camille’s jabbing shoulder as she thrashed back and forth. “The Chevaliers are an international clan of thieves. They keep themselves well-hidden, but every few years a large robbery pops up that is traced back to them, along with the many smaller-scale thefts that they were only suspected in.” “What does she want from the show?” Chef Hatchet questioned. “We’re not exactly sure.” The policeman admitted. “We have an idea.” Angel emerged from the crowd, Allison at his side. “We found a diamond in her purse with something attached to it. She attacked us to try to get it back, so it must be important to her.” “The note on it looked like it might be a clue.” Allison explained. “Maybe she’s on a treasure hunt?” “This is where you fill in the blanks, Miss Chevalier.” When the convict formerly known as Camille didn’t react, the policeman jerked her handcuffs. “It’s not like you can stop me now.” Veronique rolled her eyes. “I’ve been hunting and have found many of the things that I needed.” “‘Hunting?’ Is that what you were doing when Minerva and I caught you snooping around outside?” Monique accused. “I told you I was looking for something, didn’t I?” The criminal remarked. “What about when I saw you talking on the phone during the music video challenge?” Paul asked. “Reporting to my contact.” “Wait.” Risty’s eyes widened as the pieces of the puzzle fell together in her head. “So if you’ve been sneaking around without anybody noticing … you were the one who sabotaged Zack!” Veronique snorted. “Took you long enough to figure it out.” “But – but I was with you the whole time!” Cara whimpered. “Think again, roomie. I went with you when you changed out of your costume. While you were talking to me from inside the bathroom stall, I slipped out of the room and hid in The Emmys’ restaurant set. While Zack was distracted with burning the DVD, I streaked some lipstick on the table. He left to wash it off, and I stole the CD and was back before you even knew I was gone.” “Why would you do that?! He did nothing to you!” Risty yelled. “You’re right, he didn’t, but I needed to make sure there was no way that we could lose that challenge. Losing another player would mean I’d be closer to a possible elimination. Zack just happened to be easy to fool. Just to confuse you all, I planted the music video in our team’s room. It definitely threw you idiots off.” “Has all of this been fake?” Tears welled up in Cara’s eyes. “You were just pretending to be my friend all along? I was just your … your alibi?” “Wow, I’m surprised that little brain of yours figured that out.” Veronique glared at her. “You were my pawn, and you fell perfectly for all of my tricks. As if everybody already didn’t think poor, innocent ‘Camille’ was capable of anything bad, add on the fact that she was friends with little miss perfect and she’s golden.” “I think it’s time to take you away. You’ve already done enough damage.” Veronique began to laugh as the policemen dragged her out the door. A few officers stayed to talk to Angel and Allison, though they were having trouble explaining what had happened because Cara had broken into tears beside them. “Okay, faithful audience, sorry for the wait. Some major drama was a-brewing backstage, but you’ll have to wait to see the finished episode to find out what it is!” Chris McLean winked at the crowd. “The judges’ scores are in, but before I reveal the winner of the challenge, why don’t we hear from our trusty panel? Trent?” A spotlight lit up above the Total Drama veteran’s chair. “Well, the performances were a rollercoaster of good and bad. The Emmys were very unprofessional in the first round, but they made up with it with their great solos, and ‘Oh My Izzy’ was the icing on the cake. On the other hand, The Oscars worked very well as a team, and their first round performance was way less embarrassing to watch than their opponents’, but their solos were tactless and messy.” When Trent was finished with his critique, the spotlight shifted over to Whitney Steers. A large smile spread across the pop princess’s face. “If I’m elected Miss Pop Sensation, I would definitely give a lot more attention to kids because babies are too dumb to think for themselves. I can relate to that, so I feel a deep connection with them.” Chris stared at her in disbelief. “Um … okay then. Grand Master Chef?” “Trent covered it for me.” Chef stated. “The group round started well but turned into a mess, the solos were up and down, and the duets were just borin’. Still, I think we have an obvious winner.” The spotlight moved over to Helen D’Angelo’s chair. “Why do seagulls fly over the ocean instead of a bay?” Despite the fact that Chris had not given her an answer, his palm loudly smacking his forehead, Helen finished her joke anyway. “Because that’d make them bay-gulls! Get it? Bagels?” “Well, that’s two out of four that were sane enough to answer, so I’m going to call that a successful commentary! Let’s get to the results then.” Chris pulled an envelope from behind his back and unfolded a letter from inside. “It was a unanimous decision that The Oscars slayed the group round and The Emmys rocked the solos. The duets were a little more unclear. The winners of Sing Your Heart Out are …” The studio band began a drum roll. “The Oscars … minus Camille!” The crowd applauded, but the victors did not, still recovering from the shock of their missing teammate’s true motive. “Emmys, I’ll see you at the Team’s Choice Awards tonight. Can somebody make sure Whitney Steers doesn’t get lost on her way out of here?” Confession Cam Angel: “Am I glad that we won the challenge? Yeah. Am I glad that Camille’s out of here? Hell yeah. Still, it’s a really bittersweet victory. It really hurts to know that somebody on our own team was manipulating us from behind our backs.” The Puerto Rican leaned his chin in his hand. “Cara’s feeling way worse than the rest of us. I don’t think she’s stopped crying since we’ve left the auditorium. Cami – I mean Veronique really screwed with our heads.” “Emmys, you’re here for only the second time.” It was a few hours later, and Chris stood before the losing team with a stack of stars. “Although you barely lost the challenge, a loss is still a loss. And, dudes, what even was that first round? Fighting onstage is not cool. It embarrasses your whole team, and, more importantly, it embarrasses me … but especially me, because I’m more important.” The Emmys rolled their eyes at the host’s vanity, though Chris didn’t seem to care. “You’ve all casted your votes, so let’s find out who tonight’s loser is. The first star goes to Donna for a good effort in saving your team in the last round.” Most of The Emmys looked content with the first star’s recipient, though the smart aleck’s jaw dropped in shock. “Next is Wes for being a trooper through the whole hot sauce thing, and Victor and Ophelia for putting up a good fight in the duets. Also safe are Monique, Sebastian, Minerva, and Risty, who really didn’t do much during the challenge. Good job being background characters, guys!” Chris gave them a sarcastic wink as he tossed them the stars, leaving only two contestants unsafe. “That, of course, leaves Elena and Gabe. Literally nobody is surprised that you guys received the highest number of votes from your teammates …” Confession Cam Risty: “It was a hard choice over which of them I disliked more, but eventually I just decided to go with Elena. I could maybe tolerate another few days of Gabe, but Princess Harks has to go.” Wes: He held up a piece of paper with several names scribbled out on it. His final choice was written in all capital letters and circled several times at the bottom of the paper. GABE. Whitney Steers: “Oh my god, I am so glad to be back in my limo! Carlos, could you maybe stop at a McConnell’s drive thru? I could really use a burger and fries.” The blonde superstar leaned on the wall behind her. After a moment, her eyes widened when she noticed the camera. “Wait a minute … this isn’t my limo!” “The next person voted off of Total Drama Island: For Your Entertainment is … “Neither of you!” “What?!” Elena screamed. “No way!” Gabe exclaimed. “Damn it.” Risty grumbled. “That’s right! You’re both staying for another episode!” Chris grinned. “Since Camille was forced to exit the competition, we don’t need anybody to go home tonight, so you’re both safe!” Elena and Gabe stared slack jawed and wide eyed first at the host and then at each other. Their teammates were even more surprised, though the shock was quickly being overtaken by annoyance. Chris just let out a satisfied laugh. “Looks like The Emmys aren’t enjoying the good news. Will the next episode’s drama be able to beat Camille’s reveal? I don’t know! Find out next week on Total … Drama … Island: For Your Entertainment!” <<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>>